


Cordelia, Gregor and Ivan: Conversations about Flirting, Philosophy, and Phoenixes

by cartesiandaemon



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-16 04:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13046442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartesiandaemon/pseuds/cartesiandaemon
Summary: Ivan, Cordelia and Gregor independently sneak into the imperial archives, and discuss relationships, heroes from the time of isolation, and Gregor's attempts to not become a copy of his father.





	1. Rostoff's Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [izzybeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzybeth/gifts).



> Thank you to Izzybeth for so many great ideas which generated this fic.
> 
> Nothing warning-worthy occurs during the course of this story, but the characters discuss in general terms the homophobia Aral faces on Barrayar, and the sadism of Vorrutyer and Serg. You can skip chapter 2 and 3 respectively to avoid those if it would help.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this. Thank you to LMB for creating such a great world and such great characters!

The pair of guards on night duty at the imperial archives had been joined by a couple of friends, and indulging in a raucous game of bones as quietly as they could, when they were interrupted by Lieutenant Vorpatril.

Officially, officers newly out of the academy who served in the capital were rotated round various temporary postings on ungalmorous guard positions to give them a wide range of experience with different military duties that they could draw on as they became more senior.

Unofficially, a sudden spate of such duties was a way a commander could show displeasure with a junior officer who was a bit too smarmy, or lazy, but never failed in their duties in clearly reprimandable way. At least, when their Vor status protected them from flagrantly capricious demerits. Ivan had volunteered for this particular duty in place of a fellow lieutenant with a sick mother, stocking up some credit for future favours, and taking a "jump before pushed" approach to reprimands from above.

But very unofficially, he was here to surreptitious look something up. For a bet. For a woman.

Ivan draped his arms round the shoulders of the two guards, oozing the easy camaraderie he'd learned in a few years in the service. "Good evening gentlemen. Have you seen any guards gambling on duty round here?" A well judged pause. "Because I certainly haven't. A bit of dexterity training and mathematics practice, all to the good. Come on, man, you haven't dealt me in yet, what's the hold up?"

A few minutes later, Ivan had his jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, and was carefully winning enough they'd respect him, but not pushing hard enough they'd resent him. One of the hangers-on had been dispatched to fetch a bottle of south continent vodka the guards had hidden in an earlier shift. And everything was proceeding smoothly.

A few hours of surprisingly entertaining guard duty later, Ivan was about to slip out to relieve himself and give himself a little private tour, when the comm chimed, letting them know a messenger with a document drop was outside. According to his drinking fellows, this happened once or twice a night, couriers from ImpMil and other government departments that worked late, clearing their files of the classified-but-not-very-classified sections the second the last person signed off on them.

But the courier was Private Rostoff, a young soldier Illyan had personally noted as bearing an interesting resemblance to Emperor Gregor, not at all obvious with his usual hair and clothes and bearing, but a potential asset that led to his quiet reassignment to the capital, ready to hand for any potential need. In principle, this sort of courier assignment was just the sort of thing a trusted but low-ranked soldier would be tasked with, but too many tedious teenage hours playing strategy games against Miles had taught Ivan when to suspect a coincidence meant Something Was Up.

Pushing his drinking companions back down into their chairs by their shoulders, Ivan declared "I'll handle this one. I've got all the clearances. Just let him know I'm coming."

But when he opened the night entrance to the archives, Rostoff blank stare, and stuttered "Lieutenant Vorpatril?" confirmed his worst suspicions. A lifetime of covering up for Miles' misadventures had trained him to avoid blurting things out, but he stiffly reached out and pulled the man through the door, and the second it shut, Ivan lent out his pent-up whine. "Gregor?" he hissed incredulously.

Gregor's hesitation was as good as an acknowledgement. By the time he tried, "You haven't seen me. That's an order," it was too late, and Ivan told him so. Gregor never issued orders unless he really meant them, with the full Request and Require formality, and willing to apply the penalties for disobedience, and apparently Ivan hadn't quite crossed that threshold yet.

"Seriously, you can do stern like nobody's business," Ivan earnestly critiqued, "if you could just put that note of steel in your voice, everyone just folds instantly, even the old men. You just have to sound like you'll have them arrested," he said, his voice trailing off.

"That's the problem, Ivan," Gregor said. "I have to mean it, at least most of the time, or it doesn't work."

In fact, Ivan reflected, that was a good sign. Whatever ridiculous escapade Gregor was undergoing, it couldn't be that bad, or Gregor really would have meant it.

Ivan relaxed a little, unhunching, and speaking in a more normal voice. "What on earth are you doing here, anyway?" he asked.

"Oh, uh," began Gregor. "I just asked Rostoff to switch places with me for a night. Told him it was a drill. I told him about Illyan's plans to use him as a body double if I ever needed, and he volunteered instantly. Loyal young man. I said, Illyan wanted to check how smoothly it went when only a very few people knew, so to pretend to everyone unless I or Illyan told him otherwise. All he had to do was sleep, but he was welcome to have some things from Imperial drinks cabinet if he wanted -- I bet he won't though."

Ivan made a doubtful noise. "I take it Illyan does not, in fact, know you're running around Vorbar Sultana with no guards? What if you get assassinated?"

"Who would want to assassinate Private Rostoff?" returned Gregor.

But just as quickly, Ivan returned back, "A greekie towner whose woman was making eyes at him? Komarran terrorists targeting the military? Some baroque substitution plot from one of the loony-fringe counts who are still resentful you ended up on top of the pile? You don't know, do you, because it's Illyan's job to know that sort of thing and you didn't tell him."

"And," Ivan added, "now I know and it's all my fault too." He face-palmed.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Just... walking among the common man, a bit?" Ivan asked. "You, uh, want to come play a few rounds of bones?" he added thoughfully.

"I really would like that," Gregor said. "But I can't. I don't mind getting you tangled up in this--"

"Well, thanks," complained Ivan.

That made Gregor snap at him. "Don't be an idiot," he said. "It's not my fault you were skulking around the archives, it's not exactly your job."

There was a moment's silence. "Well, fair enough," said Ivan. Gregor really didn't sound quite ok, though. "I suppose not."

"But I suppose I really should tell you about it," Gregor finished. "Not in the corridor though," he added.

Ivan ran his hand through his hair. "OK then. One of the reading rooms?"

Gregor nodded. "I need to go there anyway."

"What-- Never mind. Tell me later," Ivan said. "I take it there are some documents?"

"Oh yes," replied Gregor. "Not really, I didn't want to steal any updates from ImpSec for this, but a coded data chip with the key lost,"

"That works," said Ivan. "Good thinking."

A flash of warmth showed on Gregor's face, quickly suppressed by the knowledge that he was supposed to be in charge of the whole empire, and didn't really deserve praise for handling one data disk well. Ivan shuddered inside, glad it wasn't him who lived with all of the Empire's responsibilities and no relief.

Ivan led the other man along the corridors. He stopped by the guard room long enough to lean in, and say that everything was taken care of, something had come up that he needed to deal with, he'd drop in on them again before he left, oh, but could they pour him a generous measure of that vodka.

"Always show weakness," was Ivan's mantra. If something went wrong, one lieutenant drinking on duty wouldn't make any difference, but he prayed nothing fell out on those guards. But they were much less likely to officially notice anything amiss, if they thought he'd shared the culpability for their small vices.

That taken care of, he dragged Gregor along to the furthest reading room, which he reckoned was the cosiest, and most convenient for any sort of clandestine access. On the way he pressed the cup of vodka on Gregor saying, "here, you probably need this."

But he didn't realise how much they would need it until they opened the reading room door and Aunt Cordelia swung round casually from the computer terminal to rake them with her intense scrutiny. "Hello, boys," she said. "I hope you have a good reason for being here at this time of night."


	2. Cordelia's Story

As soon as she'd heard people outside the door, Cordila hurried to compose herself. She'd hoped to avoid meeting anyone, but she'd discovered that confidence and an aristocratic title could carry you a long way on Barrayar, especially with people in hiearachy-conscious organisations like the military. When she'd seen Ivan and Gregor, she'd just about managed to suppress her horror.

"You'd better come in," she said, and the two young men shuffled inside. Ivan was looking resigned to Having Been Found Out, even though theoretically, he was guarding the building, and Cordelia had no official right to be here at all. But Gregor spent years very nearly standing up to Aral Vorkosigan, with Aral himself's support, and was a lot more prepared to stand up to the couple who'd raised him than he might have been.

"Cordelia," he returned smoothly. "As always, a pleasure to have time in our schedules to see you, even if the circumstances are somewhat lacking."

He gestured weakly with the vodka cup. "Ah, can I offer you a drink?" He took a polite peace-offering sip first and held it out to her, and after a moment she took it and drank gratefully, before passing it on to Ivan.

Ivan recognised his own honour-amongst-thieves bonding tactics being activated, but had no cause to complain, and took the drink back for a careful sip. And at Cordelia's invitation, the two men sat carefully at the other cushioned reading stations.

But there was a strange expression on Gregor's face. "Cordelia," he said. "I really do have to ask why you're here."

"Just some historical reading," she returned. "Some of the records from the time of isolation are still classified, but they're not exactly very sensitive any more."

But Gregor was already shaking his head, and showing his serious expression. "No. You're not on the visitor's list for the day. I checked, and no-one I knew was. You snuck in. You wouldn't do that unless it was important. And you wouldn't need to do it in the first place if Aral could just ask ImpSec."

Gregor wasn't sure he was right, but the fact that Cordelia had tried to brush it off first made him fairly sure something was up, and Aral had pressed him relentlessly to learn when to stand up to someone he respected and demand answers.

"Oh, very well," Cordelia conceded, settling back in her chair for a long conversation. "It's something that you should probably know about anyway. This wasn't exactly how I'd imagined filling you in, but I suppose it's as good as anywhere else."

"Uh, is it ok for Lord Ivan to hear this too?" Gregor asked smartly before Cordelia got any further.

"Yes, that's ok," she said. "Well, it's up to you, Ivan. I hadn't intended to tell you. It's one more family secret I don't know if you want to be burdened with. But you've been a good enough friend to us, even if you've been, ah, I don't want to say feckless, but indiscreet in some ways when you were younger." Cordelia scrupulously avoided imputing indiscretion to adult-Ivan, hoping to avoid reinforcing a less than ideal self-image in the young man.

Ivan hesitated. Eventually he spoke, slowly, working out what he wanted to say as he went along. "I really don't. I don't want to get dragged into yet another thing. I just want to serve Barrayar. And," he added with grin that fell very flat, "drink wine and meet women, I guess."

"But," he continued, "I expect I will get dragged into it anyway, sooner or later. I'd rather see what's coming, if you know what I mean."

The others waited a moment, but Ivan didn't seem to be ready to add any more.  
  
"And why didn't you insist on knowing what Ivan was doing here?" asked Cordelia, a bit pointedly.

Gregor shrugged, and looked at the younger man. "Ivan, is there any way, by any stretch of the imagination, that the most intransigent, Vorbarra-hating count could construe whatever ill-advised escapade you're engaged in as treason against the imperium?"  
  
Ivan looked back, a little wilted, but stammered "No. No, I don't think so."  
  
Gregor looked back to Cordelia. "Can you say the same?"

She hesitated a moment, and shrugged. "Not exactly, though I hope nothing is what you would disapprove of. I suppose I had better explain." She settled in her seat.

"Gregor," she began. "This may touch on some unpleasant topics for you, but I trust you to listen fairly. And just as important, if you feel uncomfortable, tell me, don't hide it."

Gregor thoguht it over for a moment, but agreed readily. "I understand."

"OK." Cordelia took a deep breath. "You probably both know, before Aral and I met, he had homosexual relationships as well as heterosexual ones. He was bi, bisexual, although that terminology isn't as common on Barrayar as I'd like."

"Ges Vorrutyer," said Gregor.

"Yes," said Cordelia. "And there were... attractions before that too, after his fiance died, even if they never became as much of a thing as he and Vorrutyer were."

"Wasn't he, um..." Ivan's voice trailed off, not quite brave enough to play sayer-of-the-unsayable about Aral Vorkosigan's sadomasochistic lover to his wife and foster-child.

But Cordelia was just nodding again. "This is something you, uh, may want to talk to me about one day in more depth," said Cordelia carefully to Gregor. "But yes. Ges Vorrutyer was, uh, very bad. Very very bad. He betrayed his military commission, and he raped and killed people, and he and Aral were long sundered by the end, although not as rapidly as might have been best."

"You do know," she added. "That homosexuality and sadomasochism are not the same thing. When a planet like this one has... so many taboos, it's easy for them to become linked, intertwined in people's minds. And everything that has to stay hidden from the surface of society becomes twisted, seen as a perversion. Everything from, pre-marital sex, to homosexuality and bisexuality, to... the things Ges Vorrutyer did."

"I did know," said Gregor. "But I hadn't thought about it for Vorrutyer and Aral so much."

Ivan stayed silent. He didn't mind a little bit of perversion, but he liked his sex fun for everyone involved, and not laden with shame and secrets.

"Aral was a bisexual, who engaged in a homosexual relationship," she put bluntly. "Vorrutyer did too, but he was also a monster. But Aral wasn't, remember that."

Gregor readily accepted that, but Cordelia felt there was something else she needed to cover before she went further. She didn't want to mention Serg, not force Gregor to think about things he didn't want to think about, but she didn't want to say nothing either. "And, ah," she went on. "On other planets, or even some people, some couples on Barrayar, in private, not everyone who is sadomasochist is like Vorrutyer. Some people are not sadists, but heterosexual or homosexual, use the power of a position with authority to coerce other people into fulfilling their sexual desire against their will. Likewise, some sadists like to torture people, but they can, and should, find willing partners who they pretend with, without hurting anyone." It was very different to thing's she'd experienced at the hands of Vorrutyer and Serg, as different as sex and rape.

Ivan was covering his eyes. "Please, Aunt Cordelia, we don't want to hear about that." But Gregor still watched her thoughtfully and she hoped some of the message had sunk in, if he turned the question to how much Serg had been involved in those rapes.

But Gregor wasn't asking right now, and she went on with the explanation about Aral. "That unpleasantness is not exactly relevant to what I need to tell you. I'm talking about consensual romantic entanglements Aral had before we were married." She took a deep breath. "And afterwards."

Ivan gasped. "He cheated on you?" The enormity of it began to sink in. Aral and Cordelia's marriage had been the rock which Gregor's upbringing, and to a large extent his regency, had rested on. Traitors had tried to prise it apart before, but Ivan had assumed that was all over long long ago, but now he was facing the possibility that it wasn't.

But Cordelia hasted to deny it. "No, no. We, um, didn't communicate as well as we might when it first happened, but it's something I agree with. It's something that adds to Aral's life with me, not replaces part of it. Albeit," she added "extremely clandestinely."

Ivan and Gregor were looking shellshocked. Eventually Ivan asked disbelievingly, "And you're really ok with this?"

But Cordelia had long practice explaining Betan mores to Barrayarans. "You both know there's many different marriage customs on Beta than merely what you're used to. I'm not 'ok' with it, I want it, because it's good for Aral and it doesn't harm me."

"Even with another woman?" asked Ivan, before he could stop himself. Although his tongue tripping over that stopped him blurting out the other question, had she ever done... that?

But Cordelia closed down that line of enquiry. "Now, that is getting a bit too personal. On Beta, of course, that would be equally unexceptional. On Barrayar, there are a lot of expectations put on how men and women interact. For that matter, on Beta, there would be nothing shameful, it would be as normal as meeting another aunt or uncle, or meeting a friend of your parents. Well, most of the time."

"But on Barrayar," she said, leaning forward pointedly, "we don't wnat to talk about anyone else who might be involved, to anyone at all. We are well aware that any romantic link outside marriage would be completely unacceptable. Especially for Aral, when so much of his reputation rests on his honour, which Barrayarans define so narrowly. Unacceptable for us as people. And for Aral, and my, roles in government."

"And," she finished to Gregor, "for you, our son. Sire."

There was another silence as Gregor digested that, dredging up all explanations Coredlia had given him on galactic relationship, and reevaluating how they might apply to her, and to Aral. Ivan had got a hold on his mouth and stopped interjecting for a bit, but he looked like he was working through a lot of stuff in his head.

Eventually Gregor had worked up a suitable response. "Thank you, Cordelia. Obviously these aren't precisely ideal circumstances, but thank you for explaining a difficult and personal topic so well. I assume that is just about the content you have to tell me? Other than the specifics of who and where, which I agree I don't need to know. Not at the moment, anyway."

"Yes," said Cordelia simply.

"Then," continued Gregor. "I thank you for your candour, and I assure you, that I see nothing wrong. Aral has not, nor have you, acted disloyally to My empire. Nor as my foster parents -- you have your private lives, it is not a requirement that you invite me to share every detail of them. Indeed, I assumed "

"Finally," he added, "it's possible this was not the most... prudent decision Aral has ever made, in a career made of good decisions. But people are allowed their lives."

Cordelia sighed, massively relieved. "Thank you, Gregor," she said. "I knew you would say that, but I wasn't sure until the second I heard it come out of your mouth."

"Oh, Cordelia," said Gregor, and he walked over to her, and they hugged. "You and Aral have done everything for me, and I have never been wrong to trust you, even as I have, I'm sorry, sometimes been wrong to doubt you. This isn't what I expected, but you both have my absolute trust, as always"

They both glanced at Ivan, who held up his hands in mock defence. "Don't look at me!" he cried. "I'm not going to tell anyone. It's all your business. I'm not sure I want to hear it, anyway."

Cordelia shook her head. "There's nothing wrong with talking about sex, Ivan. But in fact, you'll note, we went to considerable effort to absolutely not tell you, or anyone. But it was not to be."

She looked weary. "Something like this, anything like this, there could always be rumours. Even with no basis. A comment that Aral spends too long with this person, another officer, or another woman -- though I suppose the Vor's outdated etiquette protects everyone to some extent there. If you end up tangled in our affairs, or Miles', again... you need to know. To know what not to say, even in jest. What to not hear. What to not hear, and then carefully mention to Miles or Aral later."

"I wish it weren't so. But that's what riding an empire does to you." She gestured around, "I guess you get some nice building, though. Though I wish Dono Vorrutyer had been involved with fewer of them. For many reasons."

They all looked at each other. "That's about all of it," Cordelia said again.

"But, what are you doing, in here?" asked Gregor.

"Ah, yes. That," said Cordelia. "Aral was seized with paranoia that some of the public records would give away his relationship with, uh, one of his attractions. Not unreasonably, in fact -- someone studying the video from enough public events could possibly see a stolen glance, a fond look, and extrapolate from there even if there's no evidence."

"And you're... checking?" asked Gregor.

"Yes," admitted Cordelia. "Whether there's anything that someone could possibly know, or whether there have already been any suspicious patterns of access. He couldn't ask ImpSec. Not for something like this."

"Does Illyan know?" asked Ivan suddenly.

"Well, that's... complicated," said Cordelia. "But please don't talk about it, even to him. And this sort of thing couldn't really be delegated even in ImpSec. The most loyal men, people trusted as guards to the emperor yourself... even they might view their loyalty as requiring a stand against this, not in silence about it."

"So you're looking through the records yourself?" prodded Gregor.

"I am," said Cordelia. "Here, where the record access is less tightly recorded, and there's no hovering ImpSec scrutiy to ask why the Regent is suddenly watching so many tapes of recent ceremonies. It all looks ok, thank goodness. I don't quite want to think what we'd have done if it wasn't."

"I could..." began Gregor. "That is to say, we would have sorted it out somehow."

At that, they all took a break. Ivan passed the cup of vodka around once more, and they drained it between them.


	3. Gregor's Story

After a minute of contemplation, Cordelia broke in again. "Gregor," she asked. "What actually are you doing here?"

"Ah," he said. "Yes, that. Well, your story covered quite a lot of this already. You mentioned, the perversions of Admiral Vorrutyer. How Aral didn't share them. You didn't mention my father. Who was also close associates with Admiral Vorrutyer. And related to the Vorrutyers, as well."

There was a long, painful silence. The fact that Cordelia hadn't immediately rushed to deny Gregor's implication was as good as a confirmation of his fears.

Before she spoke, he continued, gazing mournfully at the empty cup in his hands. "People always talk about my grandfather, harsh, effective. They don't exactly say I'm like him, or that they wish he was here, but they talk of him. The old men, the ones who knew him, talk of him like a strict taskmaster, they drew fond of, like he's still watching them from his grave and they're scared he's going to haul them up on parade."

"But nobody talks about my father, ever. Oh yes, he was brave, and loyal, and died a great hero. They say that all the time. But almost never an unguarded word, never a personal recommendation. Never, ever, has anyone said I'm like my father, not anyone who'd ever have met him."

He looked plaintively at her. "I'm sacred to ask."

She looked sadly at him. "I can tell you some of this. I think... you don't want to delve into it now. You will want to know, but not all at once."

Gregor looked passively at her, and she took it as a cue to continue. "Your father, Prince Serg... was a bad person. Not the same as Vorrutyer, no, but maybe as bad in different ways. He did have good qualities, he wasn't as brave as people try to make out, but he wasn't unbrave either. He did care about Barrayar. He did care about you, but..." Cordelia hesitated, her vague truths all of a sudden way too pointed, but too far gone to put the words back in her mouth. "He cared for a son to follow him. But he was not a good father. I'm sorry Gregor," she said weakly.

He watched her, holding himself tightly controlled. "And the... perversions?"

She breathed deeply, difficultly. How much to tell, how much not to dwell? "It was bad. In general. And in specific, too. I can tell you more, but please, not yet. Don't try to take it all in at once."

Gregor was always so tightly controlled, all the weakness hammered out of the boy emperor's expression long before he gained his majority. In his mind, the question turned, "Am I like him?" but it didn't rise to his lips. He couldn't bear to consider, what would he do if the answer was yes?

After a minute, he nodded. "Did you come in here, to look for records on him?" asked Cordelia gently.

"Yes," said Gregor. "The same reason as you, in fact. I can access any archive on the planet with my private seal. But not without ImpSec monitoring. With Illyan, with senior officers, junior analysts, who knows who, watching me read about my father. And thinking about the things he did." And wondering whether I'm getting more like him, he didn't say.

"I didn't know exactly what," he continued morosely. "But I didn't need the sealed records from ImpSec. Just... the gossip. Dangerous once. Now, barely classified, but still not talked about. What people said about my father. When he wasn't listening."

Cordelia watched him sadly. "You still can," she said. "But maybe you know enough. You know what he did, you don't need to hear it for yourself, even second hand. Please do talk to me, I can... well, I can tell you more, show you more, when you have to know. You don't need to be alone."

Gregor has loosened a little with his new understanding, but now he was sinking into contemplation. And he seemed to be closing himself off from her again, and she stopped pressing him before he closed her off completely. He would come around, or not, though she prayed he would and looked for a way to turn the conversation before the silence deepened.


	4. Ivan's Story

Cordelia's eye drifted rapidly across the room to the younger man. "In fact, what are you doing here, Ivan? I don't believe you just happened to be on guard duty when Gregor wandered in." She paused a second, and added, "I hope it is not as weighty a tale as mine and Gregor's though. The conversation could do with a lighter turn."

"Well," said Ivan awkwardly. He drew himself up in his chair in an exaggerated show of dignity. "I'm not sure you're going to believe this, but it actually is a matter of historical research. About the time of isolation."

Coredila pursed her lips, and Gregor made a gesture as if throwing something at Ivan. "Really?" he asked.

"Really," confirmed Ivan.

"But what..." began Cordelia, and Ivan, unable to keep the story to himself any longer rushed in.

"Captain Ingsol." The others nodded. Captain Ingsol had been the captain of the imperial guard for emperor Xian Vorbarra near the start of the bloody centuries, and had been instrumental in the slow metamorphosis of the imperial guard from the emperors personal bodyguards, to a proactive intelligence gathering force which eventually spanned a galactic reach. And arguably, in Xian's evolution from a youthful emperor, nearly a puppet emperor to several of his own powerful counts, to a true force in the land.

He was something of a folk legend, a powerful man, but not a Vor, who attracted stories of trickery and one-up-man-shop, of many clever ruses which had overthrown cruel counts, or brought the dishonest to justice.

"He even carried on these great correspondances with so many other people all over the continent -- so much of what we know about the beginning bloody centuries, and the earlier time of isolation, is due to him," Ivan burbled.

"Yes, Ivan. I did know that," said Cordelia thoughtfully. But -- just managing to keep a note of doubt out of her voice -- she added, "why do you know that?"

"Oh, well," said Ivan, a little embarrassed, but not at all quelled. "You remember that holovid show Miles watched, about Vorthalia the Bold? It didn't quite scan, but I still remember the theme song, Vorthalia the Loyal, Vorthalia the Bold, he was the greatest, of the heroes of--"

"YES! Ivan, We remember the song," cut in Gregor sharply.

"All nine verses of it," put in Cordelia.

"Oh, well," said Ivan, "anyway, it had quite a lot of other characters from the time as well. Emperor Xian. And of course, Captain Ingsol. He was just so clever, you know. He could fight like nobody's business, but he almost never had to, he just... made all his problems go away, almost without working on them at all."

When you put it like that, Cordelia thought, it did sound a lot like Ivan. He'd grown up a lot, she wished she hadn't dismissed him so much when he was younger.

"Don't look at me like that," Ivan interjected to both of them, familiar with the sort of looks he got when he talked about Ingsol. "I know what people think. No-one gives Miles grief for falling in love with a six foot tall warrior hero like Vorthalia. But somehow a fox like Insgol is supposed to be the private domain of little intellectual runts."

That wasn't quite the whole story, reflected Cordelia. He was a non-vor hero specifically, a commoner, a prole, who put one over the aristocracy. And almost everyone on the planet apart from his immediate family had indeed rejected Miles mercilessly for even considering he might be a warrior. Although they might eat those words now he'd graduated the academy and was set to rocket up the ranks.

But it touched her, that apparently the opinions of his immediate family were what Ivan really did care about, and once again, she reminded herself not to judge him so shortly.

"It's ok, Ivan," she said gently. "We all love Captain Ingsol stories. I'm not about to complain about you showing some interest in history."

"But Ivan," put in Gregor. "Given this sudden interest in history, what exactly are you looking up here? It was three hundred years ago, surely nothing that happened then could possibly still need to be classified."

"And," added Cordelia. "What has brought this on right now?"

"Well, that's the thing," replied Ivan to Gregor, deftly evading Cordelia's query. "Apparently some of his letters, over half of those between him and countess Vorbeurger, and several others, are still classified. Lowest level, but still."

Gregor and Cordelia looked at each other. They couldn't imagine why either. "I see," said Cordelia. "So you decided to do a little bit of... unofficial research?"

"Exactly," replied Ivan.

"And you have sufficient clearance, even just working in ops," said Gregor slowly, putting it together as he went. "But you don't have any reason to know. You can't possibly pretend it's related to your work, so you have no cause to submit a request."

"And I don't exactly want a reputation as a fellow who's fond of research," put in Ivan emphatically. "Who knows what tasks would get assigned to me?"

"Well," said Gregor, "I suppose we could all take a look. I can't imagine there's any harm in it. I actually am authorized to look up anything, on any whim. And they make me to any amount of homework anyway whether I'm fond of it or not," he added.

Gregor gestured to Cordelia's terminal, which was already awake, and she constructed a search to try to bring up the relevant records.

While she worked, the three of them fell into speculation about what could possibly have been classified.

"Aliens," said Ivan eagerly. "I mean, humans from another planet. Our wormhole must have existed before the cetagandans mapped it through komarr, a ship could have explored it, and landed here, but something happened to it before it reported us.. somewhere. Ingsol would have known about that, he did all Xian's spying for him."

"Or," began Gregor thoughtfully. "Maybe the cetagandans did discover it, and the emperor, or one of the governors, banked it away in a data store for some time when they wanted to distract the ghem with a nice invasion opportunity with no galactic complications."

"But no," he concluded. "Something like that wouldn't be classified at a low level. Someone would have mentioned it to me." His emphasis on mentioned indicated that they had better had.

"No," he counter-proposed, "it's got to be something minor, but that someone at least went to the effort to sort out from the rest of his letters. Maybe something shocking. It's not like Captain Ingsol is personally important, but those legends, they are part of Barrayar's heritage, something... scandalous would have undermined that, it could still raise a fuss today."

"Some analyst in ImpSec might have followed the same reasoning as your Cetagandans," Cordelia put in grimly. "Save a potential scandal, just in case it was ever useful. Taint the prole hero, in case there's ever a real popular rebellion against this achaic feudal system. Or something. ImpSec try to prepare for any number of weird outcomes."

"Against your transparency edicts," she added, as a last comment to Gregor.

"But what sort of thing?" asked Ivan. "Could he be-- like Aral?"

"I don't think so," said Cordelia carefully. "A homosexual affair, even a sadistic streak -- Barayarans are quick to turn on that sort of thing when someone's alive and it could still cause problems, but hidden vices, especially anything that looks like a doomed romance, are really quite popular with dead heroes. Look at all the people flocking to Dono Vorrutyer's stupid buildings, and that was quite recent."

"Them what?" asked Ivan.

"Something that would give people pause even today," said Gregor. "A mutation, even a harmless one -- the revulsion is still strong. Sorry, Cordelia," he added. "I will do my best, I wish it wasn't. But so far, it still is."

"People wouldn't want to hear that," he continued. "People cross the line between hero and villain, but the stories like people to be nice and neat whether they're pretty or hideous, it always seems to me."

Cordelia nodded sadly. "Or maybe he was secretly a woman," she proposed.

"Really?" cried Ivan. More experienced at the cut and thrust of egalitarian debate, Gregor wisely let Cordelia respond to him.

"Oh? You don't think that's possible?" said Cordelia.

But Ivan wasn't as fumbling as all that. "No, I mean, obviously a woman could have done all that. I've listen to you explain galactic history often enough, Aunt! Countess Vorbeurger was as important as any male Count, for all she was technically a widow and the countship should have gone to one of her enemies' heirs. Or Countess whats-her-name who was legally declared a man. But wouldn't someone have noticed?" he cried plaintively.{

"It's entirely possible," Cordelia said sternly. "Most all-male institutions, including the military... When being a man is the only way of living independantly, it's amazing if no women are accepted in, through bending the rules, or complete concealment. People can be surprisingly protective of their immediate comrades, even for things that might be startling outside that."

"But... would they keep that classified?"

"Good point, Ivan," Cordelia said. "I don't know. But anyway, I think I've got something. This search returned all the letters with a classification level above public. She displayed pages of scanned letters, crammed with crabbed writing."

"Check the research annotations," Gregor said, pointing to the screen, and Cordelia brought up a selection of short notes from authorised historians, and the ImpSec censor who had originally laid a classification on the old letters. She scrolled slowly through them while all three watched.

A lot was normal historical notes, that just happened to be based on letters in this section. None of the three had any particular training to understand the events they were referring to, but after a minute Cordelia stopped, and all three read the note that was showing a couple of times.

"That could be it," said Cordelia. "Intersex. At least, according to Dr Salak, whoever he is. I assume he could read, though." She began bringing up the original letters which this notation referred to.

Gregor stood stiffly. "I see. Yes. Obviously not something I have any problem with, but, ah... I can see why a traditional Barrayaran might have felt uncomfortable."

"Especially if he idolised him a bit," put in Ivan. "You know the sort of fellow who'd have volunteered to reclassify a bunch of historical letters. He might have been as much worried about protecting Ingsol -- however misguidedly --" he added duitifully, "as in condemning him."

Cordelia ground her teeth in frustration. "Yes. He-- or they, though I suppose if he lived as a man all his life, male pronouns are the only correct ones. He says as much in this letter to Countess Vorbeurger. 'You have overcome the barriers to high rank which your sex has naturally put upon you. Though it may not be as obvious in my case, and I have faced no public condemnation as you have, I have struggled with my own problems from an unfortunately similar source, the public revelation of which I dread all the more for it's fortuitous arrestation to date.' He goes on to describe his anatomy without any apparent embarrassment."

"He wrote about anatomy too," put in Ivan dutifully. "And philosophy -- the roles of men and women, vor and prole, as not stemming from nature, but from the expectations of society, and how embracing them may be the most direct way of embracing one's duty, but not inevitably the only way, or the most superior way. The sort of stuff Kareen goes on about, but not in galactic language, obviously."

"Oh yes," said Cordelia. "There is a note from the censor on this passage as well. It, um, well, it's not very politely phrased, you can see for yourself, but it's not very judgemental either."

Gregor put on the For the Good of Barrayar face he used when ruling. "In fact, this probably should be declassified. It will be good for the historians to have one more thing to talk about, and maybe bring some interest into the time of isolation. And if anything, it supports those philosophies he espoused, ruling for the ruled, not for the ruler, both by emperor over counts, counts over subjects, husbands over wives, wives over children, as he put it. He speaks quite eloquently on the subject to Countess Vorbeurger, I imagine he had more to say if I ever have time to read the rest of his letters."

"Do you, ah," began Ivan. "Is declassifying this something you can command someone to do, you know, subtly? Won't they wonder how you know about it at all?"

"Oh, not at all," said Gregor with a glint in his eye. "Sitting up at night, reading histories about old emperors and their advisors, is exactly the sort of thing an emperor is supposed to. And knowing things before anyone else-- Aral always said on any topic, always make them tell you, but always cultivate a reputation for omniscience, that you already knew."

"It needs to be put in its proper context," put in Cordelia cautiously. "It's not a mutation. Well, not usually, it's a normal human variation. But anything unusual is seen as a mutation on Barrayar. Should it be presented as mutant rights? Or not?"

"It's ok, Cordelia," said Gregor. "I can ask for a historian with... sensibilities, and they will bring me one. I know enough to judge if they are, and if I'm not sure, I can always get them to check with you too. That would not be unexpected."

"And make sure whoever you find really understands the galactic views on gender," added Cordelia. "Being intersex isn't the same thing as being a Betan herm. 'They' not 'it', etc, and that's controvertial enough on many planets. Ingsol apparently viewed himself as male -- at least, it's not obvious he didn't from what he said to confidants like Countess Vorbeurger, but he probably didn't feel like he had much choice. Whatever they publish, don't assume too much either way..." She trailed off.

"It's ok, Cordelia. Really," said Gregor. "I will find somebody good. You'll be involved -- you know more about galactic mores than almost anyone else on the planet, alas. The declassification will go through the bureau of public information, someone will check for any bad reactions, yes, from galactics, and from poor people still terrified that they or their children will be found to be mutants, and from vor too. Aral drummed it into me often enough, if you don't have to guess, you don't have to guess wrong. No-one is just putting declassified letters on the holovid with no checking."

"Or rather," he stopped himself, slightly less reassuringly, "they have, often enough. We don't pay enough attention to the non-explosive aspects of military thinking by galactic standards. But now we do, and every little test that we're doing it right is a welcome one."

Cordelia looked satisfied at that, and stopped scrolling the datascreen.

After a moment, one more thought hit her. "This was a pleasingly interesting diversion you brought us on, Ivan. I thank you. But as it happens, you've still not explained what brought it on right now?"

"Ah, yes," Ivan temporised. "Well, I really was interested. But what first brought it to my attention-- I attented some functions at the Polian embassy. They always round out the numbers with some Vor officers when they have us. And I met Dr Patelmayer--"

"Who happens to be female? And good looking, by any chance?" broke in Gregor immediately.

"Well, yes," admitted Ivan. Cordelia sighed.

"So, we got talking," Ivan explained. "Interesting planet. We think of it as just a corridor into the hub, but they have all these--"

"I'm sure," said Gregor. And then kicked himself. He might have been drilled on Polian customs and cultures, but Ivan hadn't been. He should be encouraging his cousin when he was actually excited about something, but he was too used to squashing him.

But Ivan didn't squash easily, or for long. "She studied history, you know. Especially isolated cultures. There's nothing quite like the time of isolation, but she told me about, oh, several other examples of cultures that had little galactic influence. She got a post on the embassy, it was the first time she's actually visited Barrayr. And she's fascinated in so much."

"She was talking about Ingsol. Compared him to the pre-space thinkers of Earth, monks, and aristocratic hangers-on, when that was the only way to get time to sit around thinking. Though Ingsol did plenty of running around as well! Said he was a fascinating figure. And I offered to look up some things for her, and found I couldn't and here we are."

"...and?" asked Gregor, probingly. He wasn't absolutely sure, but he was rewarded as Ivan bared just a little more.

"And I wasn't going to do anything about it, but I was drinking with the other new leiutenants in ops, and one of them said I should sneak into the archives for her, and then Lieutenant-- well, his name isn't important. He dared me to go, bet that I wouldn't have the nerve."

Ivan looked questioningly at Gregor, wondering if he was now going to make an issue of this breach of military security. But Gregor just sighed, and said "Very well. Oh, and, you might as well tell her about Ingsol if you like. I assume you have a cover story ready. We're going to declassify it anyway. Just make sure she's discreet about where she first heard it."

"Really?" asked Ivan. "It is classified."

"Not for you," said Gregor. "I Command it. But don't let anyone know we bent the rules."


	5. Gregor's Errantcy

Cordelia reassured Aral that nothing untoward seemed to be visible, and their marriage continued on an even keel, the news of Aral's possible liasons staying safely under wraps as long as he lived.

Ivan had several more animated encounters with Dr Patelmeyer at the Polian embassy, and they discussed time of isolation history, and the philosophy of rulership, and many other things. But she didn't express a romantic interest in Ivan at the time, nor respond to his hints, and he wasn't as disappointed as he expected. Though he remained interested in self-assured successful women in a way he didn't fully admit to himself for a long time.

Gregor had a difficult time. At first he took Cordelia's advice, resting in the knowledge that his suspcions, based on few wispers about his father, had been correct, but not delving into the specifics of what his father had done. But he was still very worried, if he would inadvertently follow in his father's footsteps. He couldn't bring himself to talk to Cordelia or Aral, and one day, when he was visiting Komarr, and facing still-active Komarran hatred, he accessed those records again. Many were stored air-gapped in ImpSec HQ, but not all, and he opened everything with his seal, heedless of who would know he'd looked. The truth was more horrific than he'd imagined, and he had a very unpleasant night drinking, and watching the city he ruled through no will of his own, and looking out onto the glittering darkness, the deepness below his window contrasting the ever-burning lights of Solstice.

And he gave into the impulse to step forward into that blackness, out of the blackness behind him.

But he didn't fall, he found himself caught on the stonework outside his balcony, and he realised -- he didn't have to be who he was. He could walk away without dying, and never speak of Prince Serg ever again. And leave the darkness behind him.

He disposed of his seal. He didn't carry any other ID. He got a job as a disreputable man with a disreputable but unknown father. It didn't go well, but by that time he was far away, past Pol, in the Hegen hub. That adventure is a long one, told elsewhere, but he was captured, again, and again, and he had a romantic liason with someone horrifically unsuited to him, and not at all a good person, but blessedly free of propriety, or any form of sexual sadism on his behalf. And he revelled in the ability to choose for himself, not hedged in by a thousand different pieces of advice. Even when most of the choices were bad ones.

Miles rescued him that time, as he'd rescued many other people. And Gregor talked to Miles, and to Cordelia, and Aral about his worries, and they reassured him, again and again, that he showed no signs of being a monster, but they had absolutely no intention of letting him become one. And whether he asked them to or not, they would not let that happen, but the fact that he asked them made them all sure that he was turning out pretty ok. "I gave you my oath," said Aral. "You should know that I wouldn't still hold to that unless you deserved it."

 


	6. An Afternoon Tea Story

Gregor's schedule never had gaps in it. It did have some amount of relaxation, time spent with people Gregor could relax with more than others, activities which were useful, but also enjoyable and a good way to unwind. A burned-out emperor was a bad ruler. But Gregor's time was usually too precious to squander on anything that only served one purpose.

Gregor's attention had tickled when his secretary had read him his day's agenda, including a budgetary meeting for Vorbarr Sultana municipal government in the early afternoon. That was the sort of thing he needed to be seen to pay attention to, but usually any significant input came down to him accepting, encouraging, or rejecting requests via his Vorbarra local deputy. It had been about six months since his last personal attendance, and his experience had been that the meetings were usually delayed in favour of more urgent planetary business for another six months after that.

The mystery was revealed when the time for the meeting came round, but instead of leading him to the administrative wing, his long-suffering guide led him back to his own apartments, with a mention that there wouldn't be time for the municipal budget meeting, but that since that left an admittedly short window in his schedule, Countess Vorkosigan had dropped in and requested the palace kitchen serve an impromptu afternoon tea, if it would please His Imperial Majesty to join her.

One of Gregor's forays into asserting his authority over his own people had been stamping out these unauthorized tweaks to his schedule. As a teenager, before he'd taken command of the situation, his schedule had been warped by whichever counts or politicians had most forcefully entreated his personal staff. Usually Aral had kept his people in line, but when Aral had been busy elsewhere, he'd felt the situation slipping out of control, but not been sure how to arrest it. Since the military service academy, even before his recent Hegen Hub misadventure, he'd made a point of commanding his immediate personal environment, as part of a program of actively taking responsibility for His empire, not just allowing it to passively devolve onto him.

He'd learned from Aral, that as often as not, power was knowledge. He'd forced his secretaries to keep all the copies of his schedule, not just the most recent, and demanded to know the reasons for any adjustment. And only once or twice had he overruled them, but it had been enough to make the point, that however reasonable a request had been, each schedule had to flow only from what was most valuable for the Emperor. Exactly once had his staff turned Falco Vorpatril away, limping stubbornly back to his groundcar under his armsman's umbrella when he gave up waiting for a meeting that didn't happen, but it had been more than enough, and now no-one presumed to wheedle time with the Emperor without the Emperor's willingness.

However, Gregor's staff new perfectly well that Aral, or Cordelia, wouldn't abuse his schedule except for sufficiently necessary reasons, and that whatever Gregor said, he'd make an exception for them as long as the reasons really were sufficiently persuasive. Gregor recognised the set-up for sure when he saw Cordelia sitting with his cousin Ivan, waiting expectantly for pastries from the imperial kitchens.

His staff scampered away leaving them alone, and he relaxed into one of the sofas. Although there was almost certainly an awkward conversation ahead, it was still nice to spend a little time just with people he could relax with, and they all spent some time exchanging pleasantries, and commiserating about how exasperating Miles could be, but how much they missed him now he'd started to have regular galactic adventures.

But fairly soon, Cordelia brought the conversation around to the topics she wanted to bring up with Gregor.

"We were so pleased to get you home safe after Hegen Hub. I mean, also politically, obviously, but I meant personally."

She'd said this many times before, but Gregor was touched each time, in that she so clearly meant it.

But this time Cordelia continued. "And I heard about... Cavillo. Um, how do you feel?"

He'd thought over his brief time with Cavillo quite a bit since his return, and Gregor turned those thoughts over in his mind, choosing which thoughts if any to let outside the confines of his skull. "It was a romantic relationship." Cordelia almost certainly knew that much, even though technically it was all classified. But it was easier to talk as though she only heard his version of the story. He hoped she would hold loosely to any other version which had reached her ears.

"My first. My only, which I assume isn't a surprise to you." He barely cut off "to anyone," but that sounded too petulant for an emperor. A proper Vor was supposed to marry to have any relationship, but it was assumed that men would bend the rules plenty before somewhere or other. Especially emperors, even if they had eyes on them every minute of the day.

Cordelia was nodding, agreeing. Although Ivan was looking pained, like he'd not really considered that. But he took his cue from Cordelia and waited expectantly, and Gregor took a deep breath and continued. "She was... not a good person. Politically, she reminded me of Vordrozda, slipping in under my guard and telling me I was better than I was, but only if I did what she said..."

Cordelia was nodding again. She'd had her own run-ins with power-crazed social-climbers. "It was like a magic eye picture," said Gregor, thoughtfully. "You know, those puzzles we had as children, which look like one thing, but then suddenly come into focus as something else. All the same moves, the same play to my ego, telling me I needed to kick myself free of my crutches... As if I could rule Barrayar alone, without all my followers for me to rule, through."

"Aral foremost," he added. "But with Vordrozda, I only saw it afterwards, at the time, I really believed all those things. With Cavillo, I could see in unfolding under my nose. All I had to do was smile and nod, and she thought I agreed, and unfurled her plans one notch further."

"You handled that well," said Cordelia. She's said it several times since Gregor's return, but he'd still not quite laid it to rest. And then, after a moment of silence. "And personally?"

Now Gregor hesitated longer. "I'm not completely sure. Part of it was all the same, playing to my ego. That I was a good ruler. That I was... That is, saying how good the sex we had was." Ivan looked about ready to swallow his tongue at the idea of discussing sexual techniques in front of his aunt, but Cordelia was just listening dispassionately.

"I mean, you insisted I had those Betan infotapes as part of my education," Gregor continued. Cavillo had shared the idea, universal on Beta, and controversial on Barrayar, that a woman would enjoy sex, and invited Gregor to help make that happen. She'd clearly not fallen in love with him over sex, whatever she tried to imply. But she'd also seemed to take effort to actually enjoy it, not just to pretend. Gregor suppressed the urge to discuss that in more detail with his guests, or even to admit he wondered about it. 

"I guess it was good I'd viewed those," he said. "Or rather, I'm sure if I hadn't, Cavillo would have made it come out much the same anyway, so maybe it didn't really matter."

"Maybe it was good, even if it didn't change the outcome," said Cordelia gently.

Gregor nodded, acknowledging the point. "And yet... Personally, she was using me. She was using everyone, all her life, I think." Gregor cut that thought off there. He couldn't become too attached to the scheming paramilitary. "But like all con artists, she sold it all the better for believing it. She had plenty of plans for disposing of me, if she'd somehow managed to become Empress. And I know she would have done, given a chance. But I think she enjoyed having someone else in on her plans, even temporarily."

"That seems likely, from the little I know of her," said Cordelia. Not a firm confirmation, but at least it didn't ridicule Gregor's hesitant conjectures. "But that's her. What about yourself, Gregor?"

Gregor winced again. Cordelia always had an amazing ability to get to the heart of any matter. "I said to Miles... I knew what she was offering, a relationship, a partnership, an alliance, love... couldn't be real. But... I wished it had been."

There, that was the centre. Exposed, simultaneously vulnerable, but also freeing.

But Cordelia was nodding again. "As if... you'd like a relationship?"

Gregor gaped. But that was a reasonable description. "I... guess. I mean, doesn't everyone want a relationship? But I can't. I mean, I must, but surely an Empress will be chosen for political reasons."

Ivan was looking stunned again. Knowing Gregor, he'd always had a realistic idea of how constrained the emperor's life was, but it had never really hit him, exactly how much further from desirable it might be than he'd imagined, having every eligible vor daughter on the planet supplicating to him.

But Cordelia was shaking her head. "No, Gregor. It's not that easy, no. But this needn't be -- shouldn't be -- something you put away on a high shelf for later and never think about."

She paused for breath, marshalling her thoughts. "We all hope, one day, and yes, sooner would be convenient for political reasons, that you will marry a chosen Empress, and have heirs. But there are several things to add. One is, Aral has made great effort to ensure that you, personally, become emperor, not just a figurehead, and you have started living up to that commitment. Choosing an Empress isn't something we're going to do to you. It's an Imperial duty that you have, to find a suitable consort. You can, are likely to, delegate it. Your Aunt Alys would be a good choice to help you, for instance. But that doesn't mean it's not your choice."

She paused, working methodically down her list. "Secondly, it is to the advantage of you, your future consort, your children, and the imperium, that the relationship you enter into is one you are both eager to enter." She held up a forestalling finger. "It doesn't have to be. Don't imagine someone like... your father. Relationships can be cordial, even pleasant, without being warm. If it never works out like that, the stability of the imperium will find some other way to make heirs happen, don't feel like it's all or nothing. But it's better if it is."

Seeing Gregor was listening intently, she expounded her point. "You can never make love happen. It usually grows as a tree grows, a spark of germination, climbing a trellis of good will and affection, growing to a powerful, enduring relationship. But you can give it the best chance. If you find such a love, as your advisers, and, I think yourself, hope -- and if you, then certainly also us who hold ourselves your partisans. Then things will be much smoother than otherwise. If you do not both feel obliged to be together, there will hopefully be less risk of any number of potential problems, of scandal, of separation, of disagreement over the children."

"Yes, children," said Gregor wistfully. "I hope there will be, one day. I guess there must be, for heirs, if no other reason."

Cordelia smiled maternally. "I should think there will," she said kindly.

"And thirdly?" Gregor asked her in turn.

"Thirdly," said Cordelia. "Consummated sexual relationships inside marriage are not the only form of relationship, not the only form of romantic relationship, that is. I told you before, we trusted you with it, about myself and Aral. That he has both a public marriage, and... other relationships as well. Which was only mildly scandalous before he was married, in fact, even if it would now be, the scandal to end all scandals..." she finished weakly.

Gregor again reassured her that he was honoured by her trust and owed her and Aral more than he could ever repay, even as Emperor, and that this was only one part of that.

But she moved to move the conversation forward, and Ivan stepped into the gap, asking awkwardly, "Do you think, I mean, are you attracted to men? I mean, I guess not exclusively? But at all?"

Gregor smiled thinly at that. "I am, I guess. But... not as often as to women. Or to herms, not that I've ever really thought about wider possibilities."

All the same, Cordelia nodded approvingly at his show of self awareness. "I can't deny that politically, it's probably fortunate that you're amenable to forming a long-term marriage to a woman. But it's good to be aware of who you are, separately to what you choose to do. You don't need to deny parts of yourself, even if you can't be as forthright with them as you'd like to be."

Gregor's lips twisted ironically. "I'm used to that in every other aspect of my life, at any rate." And he did ok even when it was a weight on him.

"But," Cordelia jumped in again, "I want you to know that you that if you feel there's something you can't deny, we are here for you. Me and Aral, and Ivan--" Ivan nodded dutifully-- ", and Miles, and Aunt Alys, and others. If you were gay, exclusively, for instance, you would make it work and we would help you. You might need to marry for political reasons, but then it really would make sense to find a woman you like, who can be your partner, but not your lover. And is ok with you potentially having a companion, or more, elsewhere."

Gregor basked in the glow of fierce maternal affection. It was good to know, people really did care about him, not only as emperor. Even Ivan was nodding, "Yeah. That's not so an unusual arrangement."

And then, Cordelia added thoughtfully, "And again, this is more of a painful topic I'd not meant to dwell on, but I think you'd benefit from hearing it. I know you're worried about following in your father's footsteps. From what you've said, you don't sound to share any of his perversions. But I also want to stress, he let himself become a monster because he imposed his desires, sexual and otherwise, on people. Other people have desires, sadistic and masochistic, and live perfectly normal lives, by finding people who have compatible desires to pretend with."

Gregor and Ivan digested that.

"No, not Aral," clarified Cordelia. "But he does know other men, men who love men, and play, consensually, in ways that would be awful when done nonconsensually. The difference between sex and rape, which you must understand by now."

"On other planets, that's perfectly normal, boring even," she finished. "If you did have such desires... that's not completely convenient, but it's not a bad thing. I don't think you do, but don't let yourself believe that if you did, it would inevitably make you act like Serg, or that complete abstinance is the only choice."

Gregor watched her carefully. "Thank you Cordelia. Put like that, I think I can say that I don't, but I also, very very much, appreciate you making the options clear to me."

"But it sounds like, a male lover, sadism or not, is not what we need to thinking about," Ivan pointed out.

"That's fine," she said. "Being polyamorous and being bi are not at all the same thing, as I've explained to this benighted planet more than enough. But I thought I should restate that, falling in love and getting married all at once is not the only way things works, whatever the holovids say."

"Like... a mistress?" asked Ivan uncertainly, echoing Gregor's doubt. Somehow that seemed a lot less possible than the arrangements they'd been considering a moment earlier.

"There are significant problems with that," warned Cordelia. "As I think you know. That's not exactly what I meant. But I would also be doing you a disservice to just tell you no, like a child, rather than inviting you as an adult, to see the costs of potentially risky behaviour. And of course, though it's not fair, an emperor has even more responsibilities than an adult."

"Could he?" asked Ivan, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Keep a mistress, I mean."

"Well," said Cordelia. "This wasn't exactly where I wanted to take the conversation next. But as I said, I think there's more benefit in considering the question realistically than refusing to think about it. So... Gregor, could you?"

"Uh..." said Gregor dumbfounded. "Well, other than not knowing how to start. Not really?"

Cordelia smiled. "Exactly. But so you know, that's you. You realize, you can't easily without compromising your position, most likely without compromising her conception of her honour. But plenty of emperors have been plenty roughshod with those things. That is a choice, where I hope you continue to make the right one. But it is a choice."

"But aren't there... other, um, something?" asked Ivan weakly, obviously distressed at the notion of Gregor's permanent bachelorhood.

"That's also true," said Cordelia. "Keeping a mistress, or God forbid, a harem of mistresses, an emperor might be able to do, but would not be ideal. Again, I don't want to remind you of unpleasant things, but remember. So far, you have worked at your honour, and shown yourself to be more honourable than average in my estimation. Your undeservedly lamented father, had much, much less honour than average, and would have done that, and much much worse. Much much much worse."

Then she hesitated. "I'm sorry, Gregor. I think that hangs in your mind, and it does mine too sometimes. But everything doesn't need to be a reminder of that. I want to emphasize, you aimed to conduct yourself with honour, and so far, you're succeeding."

"But there are other things?" asked Ivan, and then continued answering his own question. "A male lover," he said slowly, "just like we suggested before. As you are inclined that way, at least a little, I guess. That would be a scandal in its own way. But look how people got over Uncle Aral -- they still hate him, oh, sorry Cordelia, I know they shouldn't, but everyone's scared of him still, that's the same thing. But now he's married, no-one talks about what he got up to before, as it were."

"Yes," said Cordelia. "Although painful for me personally, that was well put. If you did take a lover, a man, while scandalous, would in many ways present less difficulty for your later marriage prospects. There are some similar options. I don't suggest you try to take them up now, or ever without particular need, but if you are ever... inclined to an interest in such an arrangement, don't let yourself jump for the most damaging one, consider what you actively choose."

"And do consider what you personally want," she added. "Even if you are more often inclined to an attraction towards women, it is always possible that you might find a male relationship, even a non-consummated one, less intimidating, even if you expect to end up marrying an Empress eventually. Or you might not. Everyone is different."

There was a short silence, while they digested that. And then, "You said that's not what you meant. What did you mean?" asked Gregor, side-stepping the difficult tangent.

"Well," began Cordelia. "Most people see sex as a large part of a romantic relationship. But even people who desire sex, there are many other things that contribute to a relationship, even things that are sexual, if not sex."

"Like, uh..." Ivan gestured vaguely, erotically with his hands, and then cowered, realizing what he'd asked. But Betan Cordelia took it blithely in her stride.

"Please stop that now, Ivan," she said gently. "In fact, yes, if you live in a culture which places massive social weight on some particular sex acts, then choosing those only when your intentions accord with your culture, and otherwise choosing other sexual acts, which can be equally erotic, but less taboo, is a wise strategy. If you engage in socially-unsanctioned sex at all. I don't think that's a healthy trade off, but given the society you're in, it can be a safe and," -- she paused, weighing if she had the right to use the next word -- "and honourable one. As long as you're honest with a future partner, and honest with a current partner about what you imply and what you don't, and prudent to avoid situations likely to compromise their own safety and life, you do not owe more to society than to them."

"But again, that's far from what I actually meant," she said decisively. "I mean, tangled glances, fond words, a gentle touch between hands. And chaperoned dances, and talking on the holovid, and taking walks, literal walks. You know, all the other things couples do together. Those are still things someone can do -- that most people do do."

"But, Cordelia," protested Gregor instinctively. "I can't... People would think..."

"Now, yes, you're right," said Cordelia. "A casual walk, but with an emperor, is a lot more public, it implies a lot more. You are very right to be conscious of what you imply. But the basic principles of relationships still apply."

She gestured to Ivan, who jumped in on cue with his explanation. "Flirting is the art of studied ambiguity. Even if you're looking for marriage... if you send a baba to every woman you're interested in, it clearly sends a signal that you aren't that interested in them specifically. That's rather an insult, you know?"

"Thank you, Ivan," said Cordelia. "To continue Ivan's explanation, it's generally prudent, even on Barrayar, to have an idea whether which potential suits are likely to look favourably on your interest before you begin. Whether that's decided primarily by her clan head, or by the woman herself," she added dismally.

"It's the same if you're just flirting," continued Ivan passionately. "A glance, from a woman who never glances, means a lot. "

"Ivan was not always very honourable in that regard," said Cordelia. Ivan looked betrayed that she would mention it. "I put him in disgrace more than once for the way he treated other people's bodies when he was young. Fortunately, he's shown us all, that people can grow up. He might have a feckless reputation with the old men," she used the term with a twinkle in her eye, she and Aral being more than an age to be inducted into that category themselves now, "but he has learned the lesson of seeking willing partners well."

"It's a lot easier like that," said Ivan, hangdog. But then he warmed to his theme. "It really is. That's what so many fellows get wrong. They press, they look for the woman they want, and they try to win her. Even Miles, he throws himself full tilt at the rockface, and then comes crashing down in despair when it doesn't work. But you find a woman who wants to be won, and you just... go through the motions, and she's more than grateful for the attention. Whether she wanted a dance, or a look, or, you know, sometimes, something more."

"You need to be especially careful of pressuring women," said Cordelia. "Anyone in a position of power does, because even if they make a genuine offer, the person they have power over doesn't know if there may be bad consequences for refusing. Even if they didn't intend a threat, a count, a lord, a business manager might treat a subject or an employee less well, much less well, if they've been spurned."

"Like my father," said Gregor dourly.

But Cordelia cut in sternly at that. "No, Gregor. You can't let humility run away and become self-indulgence. That's dangerous in both directions. No, firstly, because men like your father... they're not indifferent to the harm they cause, they actively seek it out. And watching yourself for that perversion is good, but you shouldn't become obsessed by it, it's not something you do by accident. And secondly, because, if you're watching yourself to avoid becoming a sadist, you may allow yourself not to notice if you accidentally stampede people into things, if you can tell yourself, you're doing nothing wrong." She shot a look at Ivan.

"I understand," said Gregor dolefully. "But I guess that leaves me no-one, then."

But Cordelia clicked her tongue sharply at him. "Giving up is not the answer, Gregor," she said. "This is not a rebuke. I'm not saying you need to be more careful. If anything, you need to be less careful."

"Less careful?" he asked.

"I said, you need to be careful. That doesn't mean, infinitely careful. It doesn't mean, never expressing an interest in anyone. That's not a healthy life. Partly for you. Partly because you will, sooner or later, have an interest in someone -- almost everyone does. And if you've not thought about it, then, after a lifetime of denying part of yourself, when you let it out, you have no experience at judging how far to safely go."

"Miles has that," said Ivan thoughtfully. "About a whole lot of parts of his life he never thought he'd be able to have." He added fervently, "I hope he gets over it."

"And also," said Cordelia, "it's a matter of degree. Almost all people have some amount of power difference with each other. If you are talking to a count's daughter, or a respectable, independent widow, or a non-Barrayaran, you obviously have all the same concerns about being respectful and avoiding scandal, but you're not doing anything wrong, not like cornering a chambermaid in the bedroom." She gave Gregor a vicious glare, squelching any such thoughts.

"I guess that's true," said Gregor brightening. "I could date another Emperor."

"Are there any, other than Cetaganda?" asked Ivan.

"Alas," said Gregor. "Only very far across the nexus. I admit that is the flaw in the plan."

"What you want to do," continued Ivan expounding on his seminar, "is practice. Learn how to show interest without seeming overbearing."

Put like that, it did sound sensible. Gregor looked round as Cordelia. "And you, uh, you think that's something I should do?"

"I'm not sure," said Cordelia. "But I think you should at least think about it. That is, I think it's something you might want to do, and with the help of people close to you, could potentially do. Barrayar has a tradition of elders guiding the young in their romantic escapades, which would put Beta to shame if it were more often used for everyone's own good that to shepherd outdated notions of property rights down one more generation. That needn't be only for marriage."

By now, Gregor was beginning to suspect more than an elaborate discussion over afternoon tea. He fixed the two of them with a sharp glare. "And did you, by any chance, have a specific follow-up in mind here?"

Cordelia glanced at Ivan, and when he clammed up mulishly, explained. "You remember Dr Patelmeyer from the Polian embassy?"

Gregor looked at Ivan. "You were quite interested in her before the war, weren't you? But you decided she wasn't interested."

"Yes," said Ivan. "But what I was trying to tell you, Aunt Cordelia is--"

"Having decided she wasn't interested in you, you were going to press your attentions on her again?" asked Cordelia sharply.

"It's not like that!" Ivan said. "Didn't you hear my explanation about, oh, all of that?"

"But," he continued. "Barrayar saved their whole planet! They're all so grateful. Not as much as Vervain or Aslund, but still, a lot. I talked to her, when she came back with the expanded embassy after the war. She was really enthusiastic about us all. She described you very flatteringly, Gregor."

"There, you see," said Cordelia. "She's not interested in you, Ivan. But she might be interested in Gregor."

Ivan back on his most mulish expression. "Romantic interest isn't something we can tithe, Aunt. Not since the time of isolation--"

But Cordelia shut him down sharply again. "Don't talk like that. Romantic interest isn't something you even have, Ivan, just something you aspire to. After already being rebuffed."

"Oh," she softened. "It's not like that. Asking twice is not a campaign of stalking. I'm sure she wouldn't be offended, and I should hope you wouldn't do anything untoward."

"Oh course not!" protested Ivan.

"But that said," said Cordelia, "You've not described any great chance of success. What was that you said, about finding the people who like you, and not trying to get people to like you?"

Ivan glowered.

"I'm not telling you," she said. "I'm asking. On behalf of one of your friends." she nodded at Gregor. "I do not think you have a lot to give up, and I think if you were willing to help, you could help your friend, your cousin, a lot. But it's up to you. Will you help Gregor? This sort of thing surely has a long bachelor tradition, doesn't it?"

Ivan stared her down for a long time, and then turned resignedly to Gregor. "She's right, you know. I'm sorry. She didn't exactly expect to meet you, but she did describe you very admiringly, rising out of incognito to lead the Barrayaran fleet down onto the Cetagandan invasion personally. Compared you to Hap Ingsol and Xian Vorbarra both, which is high praise from her."

Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Ivan. I'm glad. Now I understand you had some plan...?"

"Oh yes," sighed Ivan reluctantly. "You know I don't like to orchestrate too much. But that reception at the Imperial History Museum next month, you know."

"Yes," said Gregor. "The several hundredth anniversary of-- Well, the historians disagreed about the dates, but supposedly the recovery by Vorthalia the loyal of Xian Vorbarra's lost sceptre. I believe I am due to make an 'impromptu' appearance, along with Lady Vordutton, who My prime minister asks that I attempt to overawe with imperial patronage, to see if he can get her vote for next week's budget vote. She has her father's voting proxy, although she needs to send one of her sons into the council of counts to actually call the votes. And the budget includes a rather large sum to cover the unexpected expenditures by My imperial navy at the Hegen Hub, as well as covering the repairs of My cousin's private little war fleet."

"Yes, exactly," explained Ivan. "Some of the Pol delegation will be there. You know how she is about the time of isolation. I thought I'd offer to take her off in a lightflier trip, see the canyon where it was recovered."

"That's not a bad plan," said Cordelia. "Assuming she doesn't notice your blatant disregard for propriety. I thought we could expand that a little to add it on to your little schmooze, Gregor. You could propose it to Lady Vordutton, she's a big reformer, that's why she hates the navy, she'd like anything to do with our Foresightful Captain Ingsol. Invite some other people from the reception, including from the Polian delegation. Add a couple of lightfliers of ImpSec guards."

"And there you are," sighed Ivan. "In the middle of a remote wilderness with a beautiful woman who thinks you saved her entire planet, surrounded by politicians and ImpSec."

"I'm always surrounded by ImpSec," said Gregor. "And politicians. But anyway, the point isn't to have a clandestine love affair, whatever your scheming was about. It is to, uh, meet Dr Patelmeyer in person, see if I have an interest in her, and see if a calculatedly careful show of interest in her, elicits a reciprocal expression of interest in me. Is that about right, Cordelia?"

"That's what I had in mind," she confirmed.

Ivan rolled his eyes, but by then the plan was about set.


	7. A Phoenix Story

There was always some topic Lady Vordutton had petitioned the emperor about. Increased worker training. Mandatory pensions. Increased freedom of movement. She was not always the most politic politician, but Gregor respected her idealism. Unfortunately, her father's vote was needed to squeeze through the navy retroactive appropriations bill, and, as she explained eloquently, she felt any money which could be squeezed from the Imperial budget should be reinvested in Barrayar, not squandered in foreign wars.

Gregor's staff had granted a hearing for the latest of her petitions, on the subject of increased pensions for surviving parents with minor children, as an excuse to give Gregor a chance to smooth the vote for His government. They had arranged it sandwiched between several other appointments, giving Gregor an excuse to give Lady Vordutton time without taking as much out of his schedule, and to continue the conversation while Gregor showed Appreciation For the Long Line of Vorbarra's Before Him at the imperial history museum's reception on the anniversary of the finding of Xian Vorbarra's lost sceptre.

Gregor had invited Vordutton to accompany him in the same groundcar, and listen patiently while she pressed her case.

"Hanna," Gregor said. "Hanna. I agree with you. Increased pensions are good for imperial subjects, are good for the imperial economy, and are a moral necessity. They are. But it doesn't matter how necessary they are. The Counts won't authorize any more central expenditure. You know they won't. They say, each Count provides as necessary for the people in his district."

"But they don't," expostulated the irate Vordutton.

"No," said Gregor honestly. "They often don't. I would like nothing more, and so would my government. But they don't have the votes."

Vordutton seethed for a while, and Gregor did his best to be conciliatory. He cautiously tried to bring up the topic of the military budget, but that triggered a new explosion from his vehement co-passenger. "The military!" cried Vordutton. "The military. We should be helping save lives, not taking them. Let us feed the orphans, and let counts pay for the military only if they're willing to reach into their pockets."

Gregor sighed, and continued to let the harangue wash over him. He feared his government may need to find its vote elsewhere. And he wondered how he'd ended up on this side of the argument.

As they approached the imperial history museum, Gregor shifted the conversation from more fraught topics to the upcoming reception, and Lady Vordutton accepted her argument had been pressed as far as she could, and let herself be drawn into a conversation about Xian Vorbarra and Hap Ingsol, and Ingsol's status as an apparent folk hero, and where his views could be used to support a genuinely progressive society, and where they couldn't.

As the groundcar rolled to a stop, Gregor swung himself out. He was beaten to opening Lady Vordutton's door by one of his armsmen, but he politely offered her his arm, and she politely took it, and he led her between ranks of armsmen and gawking crowds into the building.

As they were announced into the grand gallery where most of the reception was being held, uniformed servitors sliding impeccably up to them and offering them wine, Gregor spotted Dr Patelmeyer coaxing historical tales from Professora Vorthys just in front of the grand case containing Emperor Xian's famous sceptre. He smoothly led Lady Vordutton forward to join them, as the crowd swung around to avoid presenting their backs to him, and the crowd of hanger's on around the Professora opened up to let Gregor and Lady Vordutton sweep to the fore.

He released Lady Vordutton to formally greet the other two women. "Ah, Professora Vorthys. I am so glad you have an opportunity to share your expertise. And Dr Patelmeyer from our Polian embassy, I believe? It is very good to meet you."

"Thank you, sire," said Professora Vorthys.

"Ah, thank you, Sire?" asked Dr Patelmeyer, putting the slightest question into her use of the title. Gregor smiled indulgently. "'Sir' is more than sufficient for non-Barrayarans, but I don't take offence if you occasionally round up." He phrased the correction as positively as he could, and judging from her sudden smile, he'd succeeded.

"Thank you again, Sir," she said. "And thank you most earnestly for what you did in the war." She essayed a practised but inexperienced curtsey. "All of Pol was most relieved. It was most brave, a sitting emperor leading his navy in person! Like something out of a legend."

She smiled to show she knew she was exaggerating, but that she meant the compliment sincerely. Gregor had been flattered plenty, but he started to let himself believe he actually could judge what was calculated flattery and at least somewhat sincere.

He turned to draw the older women back into the conversation. "And has Professor Vorthys been regaling you with tales from the time of isolation? The more interesting versions, the historically accurate ones, I imagine."

Professora Vorthys snorted at this flattery, but grinned disarmingly at her young emperor. "Please," said Gregor, "continue. I know Lady Vordutton knows as much about the time of isolation as most Barrayarans, but I know she's interested in what you have to say."

Lady Vordutton nodded approvingly. "What has she been telling you?" she asked Dr Patelmeyer, turning to include the crowd around her.

"About the sceptre, of course," said Dr Patelmeyer. "I knew about it vaguely, but I hadn't quite realized... A relic from the original colonisation" She gave a shortened but accurate recapping of Professora Vorthys' history, and the Barrayarans murmured approvingly. 

The sceptre was one of the very few relics surving from the original colonization of Barrayar, an early spaceship's control rod. Xian Vorbarra's father, in an effort to maintain the Vorbarra emperorship long enough to pass it on to his young son, had tried many things to reinforce a sense of planetary unity on other the squabbling counts he was unable to check by military or political means. One was to adopt the relic as his sceptre, implanting translucent jewels in the place of the original control buttons, and highlighting connectors and edges in stylized gold edging reminiscent of circuitry. The assembled company, following Dr Patelmeyer's breathless recitation, had turned their gaze again to the relic sitting proudly on its raised velvet cushion, on a marble pillar in a vast glass case.

"It's very Barrayaran," pronounced Gregor. "It harks back to our earliest history. But it was never worshipped, never revered as a mystery, rather, held as a promise of the stars that would in future be wrested once more from the universe. Xian's father didn't shy away from altering the relic, quite tastefully too, in my opinion, unlike some of the decoration from the later time of isolation."

Professora Vorthys nodded approvingly at Gregor's display of erudition. "But," put in Dr Patelmeyer, "you were just getting round to telling me about Captain Ingsol's connection to it. I was fascinated by him," she explained to Gregor.

Lady Vordutton jumped in at that too, announcing a great regard for the long dead security chief, and thinker, and she and Dr Patelmeyer exchanged a few words. "Many of the legends about him are true," announced Professora Vorthys. "Although many others are wishful fabrications and exaggerations, as to be expected."

"What about the sceptre?" asked Dr Patelmeyer.

"Oh yes," said Professora Vorthys, and launched into an abbreviated version of the tale, with historical footnotes. Xian had been out hunting, with only a small guard, and little baggage, but including his captain of security and fabled sceptre. They had been turned around in a heavy rainstorm, and encountered several companies of Vorharopulos's men. Vorharopulos had not been in open rebellion, but an invitation to enjoy his hospitality to the young and politically weak emperor was expected to be forcefully issued, with any amount of pressure exerted on Xian until he was able to extricate himself.

Instead, Captain Ingsol insisted on changing clothes with the emperor, including the precious sceptre, and led half the men forward while Emperor Xian took the rest of the men, evading sight, and escaping once Vorharopulos's men had passed on. Xian had been unwilling to give up the sceptre, the symbol of his reign, but Ingsol had counselled him most forcefully to prioritize his reign above its symbol, and Xian had commanded the ruse to be enacted.

"There are many other versions," explained Professora Vorthys. "In some, Ingsol overcame the Emperor by surprise. In others, he duelled his master. In still others, Xian had not been there at all, but Ingsol, for reasons unclear, had ridden out in the emperor's clothes, as part of a plot to shore up, or undermine, the emperor's position. But this version is based on the incident as Captain Ingsol wrote about it later in his letters to Countess Vorbeurger, and it seems most plausible."

Gregor reflected on his own recent experiences with escaping the imperial yoke, and decided he fared about as well as Xian.

"And what happened?" asked Dr Patelmeyer.

"Ingsol rode up to the troops," recounted Professora Vorthys. "He was immediately taken in as their 'guest'. A few days later, before he met Vorharopulos in person, he revealed the ruse, and an irate Vorharopulos returned him to the emperor with some very sharp words. But Vorharopulos had no grounds to imprison or execute him, and Captain Ingsol's famous loyalty meant he had no leverage, he knew Xian wouldn't bargain for his beloved servant, and he had nothing to gain by discommoding him out of spite."

"And the sceptre?" asked Dr Patelmeyer again. "Vorha- Vorharopulos took it?"

"No, that's part of the legend," put in Lady Vordutton. "It vanished. Somehow on the first day, Ingsol hid it in the barren country, or managed to get one of his guardsmen to hide it. Vorharopulos was upset, but even when he sent men to search couldn't find it. But then, the borders shifted and the land became deeper in Vorharopulos's district, and Xian couldn't recover it, if it was even there, not damaged beyond repair."

"At the time, several other adventurous lords sought it, and some of the more senior counts as well, for it could be a powerful symbol. Indeed, several popular revolts during the next fifty years gained momentum from a leader who claimed to have the lost sceptre, and be a distant cousin of Xian with a greater claim to the Vorbarra emperorship-- for all that at the time, the emperorship was more something bestowed by the most powerful counts, than a true inheritance." She looked satisfied at this account of long-distant prole rebellians.

"Fifty years? Then how was it eventually recovered?" obligingly prompted Dr Patelmeyer.

"Ah, I know this one," grinned Gregor. "So do most people, for that matter. The adventure of Vorthalia the Loyal and Xian Vorbarra's lost sceptre. There was an adaptation on holovid when I was young, Lord Vorkosigan watched it incessantly." He paused for amusement from the company. "I can still remember the song. But imperial dignity forbids me to try to perform it before eleven of the evening clock."

"There were earlier legends, and an original historical event which Miles researched and impressed on me," he bowed to Professora Vorthys. "But as commonly told, it runs something like this." He gave a brief recounting of the popular version of the tale, similar to the version in the holovid. The fight through the thorns, the bandits, the rebel count. Eventually, the hidden cave. "Captain Ingsol appears in that legend too, and more so in that particular holovid. It was towards the end of Emperor Xian's reign, when his relationship to his counts was more settled, although never really subservient. In the holovid, it was one of the first times Vorthalia interacted with his emperor, earning his gratitude from the return of his sceptre, and the older, greyer, Captain Ingsol becoming a mentor to him, for his later wider-ranging adventures."

The crowed ooh'd appreciatively at this display of imperial historical knowledge, and Professora Vorthys nodded her professional approval.

"In fact," announced Gregor, "We are minded to add a bonus excursion to this historical review. My secretary tells me, I have a small gap in My schedule and I am minded to take advantage of this august anniversary to visit the site where the sceptre was supposedly found."

His secretary stepped forward to explain the details. "Still in the current Vorharopulos district. We have laid on several lightfliers to take a party to inspect the site."

Gregor nodded to the women in front of him. "Dr Patelmeyer? Professora Vorthys? Perhaps you would care to continue the conversation with me? Lady Vordutton, I believe my finance minister has some questions he would appreciate your opinion on, if you're interested in the excursion, I wonder if you might indulge me in riding with him and trying to come to a productive conclusion on those fraught questions?"

Lady Vordutton looked not entirely pleased at being handed off so deftly, but Gregor put in a last parting word he hoped would be received with more welcome. "Captain Ingsol wrote, of the advice he on several occasions gave to Emperor Xian. That the emperor should spend on his military what he must in order to keep his people safe, but invested as much as he could in the people themselves, for wealth spent in conflict is lost, but wealth invested is returned multiple-fold." He bowed to her. "If you have any way to achieve less of the former, I have instructed my minister to hear it. But if not, I must decide where 'may' ends and 'must' begins."

Thus disposed of, he led the other two ladies to the flight park, followed by a crowd of other guests deftly sorted into small groups by bustling courtiers.

Bundled safely into an ornate imperial lightflier, regretfully giving up any hope of flying it himself, Gregor settled into the back seat with Dr Patelmeyer, Professora Vorthys slipping out of the deference to her age that should have put her in the better position, instead insisting on claiming the view through the windshield along with the polite taciturn imperial pilot, and astutely positioning Gregor and Patelmeyer on parallel seats in the rear.

The cavalcade of lightfliers growled, circled and rose like a flock of starlings, turning after the lead vehicle Gregor road in. A half-dozen ImpSec vehicles paced the expedition, constantly guarding the imperial person.

Gregor and Patelmeyer locked eyes for a moment, but before Gregor could decide on anything to say, Dr Patelmeyer broke the silence eagerly. "Sir, I never expected a chance to ask you this in person, but I guess, here we are. Ambassador Baasu was still enchanted by his elephant. It's almost the only one on Pol, in fact, though we have so many smaller creatures from all over Earth. I always wanted to know... How old were you then? Did you order it given to him, or your Prime Minister or foreign minister...?"

Gregor was suddenly laughing too. "That elephant! I forgot you would know about it. Simon Illyan, you know -- a modern Ingsol if it's not too much to say so, helping run my empire as much as guarding my person. He told me about it. I knew nothing at the time, I would probably have wanted to keep it. We don't exactly have many elephants either, you know."

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," he said. "Captain Illyan said I would have been ten. I, uh..." he paused on a moment of intimacy but decided to continue. He did rephrase it to sound as little self-pityingly as possible. "I learned early, to keep moments of whimsy for close companions, I wouldn't have tried to give a stranger an elephant."

"Oh, that's such a shame. The ambassador really hoped you had. He was quite a partisan for you back home, you know. Gregor the Elephant we called you sometimes in the new embassy-- I shouldn't have said that."

But Gregor was laughing freely. "I love it. I love it. Of course, as it happens, I deserve little of the credit. But Aral Vorkosigan, Simon Illyan, they are my people. If they give someone an elephant, then I give someone an elephant. And I am very glad I did, if it helped even a little to the happiness of one man. And for that matter, the Hegen Hub alliance. It was a close thing you know. I couldn't' have defeated the Cetagandan armada alone," he joked.

After not very long the lightfliers were settling down into a broad canyon, landing in a carefully aesthetic diamond shape, while the ImpSec fliers spread out, some landing at the canyon top, others coming down in both directions along the canyon. As soon as they were landed the pilot popped the canopy, and Gregor offered his arm to Dr Patelmeyer as they stepped out of the craft. As he led her forward from the vehicle, he gestured expansively to the cliffs in front of them, speaking to her, and to any of the other assembled guests who began to drift toward them.

"These are the cliffs Ingsol was reputed to have climbed, when he somehow slipped momentarily away from his captors and hid the sceptre. Fifty years later Vorthalia said he found the sceptre in a cave here, though no archaeological evidence remains."

Timing it carefully, Gregor added, "Now look up!" and the assembled guests jerked their heads skywards as four flaming avian figures drifted across the canyon. "The phoenix!" announced Gregor magnanimously. "The bird Ingsol wrote best represented the love of ruler for ruled and ruled for ruler, rising passionately again if the fire ever dwindled."

In an aside to Dr Patelmeyer, he explained, the display was from a student at one of the nascent Vorbarr Sultana art academies, whose project had won the competition for one of the coveted imperial art grants, and been found suitable for this occasion. "Really," he explained in a low voice, "it's been used as a symbol of popular rebellion for too long. A provocative image, one I'm careful not to mention. But hopefully one calculated to appeal to Lady Vordutton's sensibilities. Here's to new and better futures."

But on those last words, Dr Patelmeyer had impulsively clung to his arm, watching the birds soar overhead, and at the pleasant human warmth temporarily at his side, Gregor felt content.


End file.
